Another Gate
by Aspirare
Summary: Several years into the future, the war still continues between Autobots and Decepticons, and through it all, life goes on, and Sam is keeping a secret.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Another Gate

**Rating: **R

**Disclaimer:**_ Transformers _and all related characters therein do not belong to me. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Summary: **Several years into the future, the war still continues between Autobots and Decepticons, and through it all, life goes on, and everyone's still looking for ways to hold on.

**Author's Note: **I have no idea what this is, or from where it came. The opening scene just came into my head and demanded to be written. This is a gift fic for twinseternal on LJ as a thanks for creating such beautiful artwork. This was originally meant as a one-shot, but the plot's gotten big enough for it to be either a two or three shot. We'll see what happens. I hope you enjoy it.

8888

_Why you say you are not in love with me._

8888

"Come on, hurry up! I think he's this way."

The long grass parted easily before them, yellow stems rippling away from the grasshopper trails in the late afternoon wind. Mikaela's steps fell light and quick across the dry sandy soil, the blades bending under the soles of her sneakers and marking her dash across the hills. Around her, she could hear the others running, occasionally calling out to each other to keep in contact while blinded and cocooned by the prairie grass. Above, the sky was low and red, illuminated by the setting sun as it flared its way across the building clouds. Against this ceiling the roar of jets sounded low and far away, making lines in the dimming light. Smoke rode in on the wind, bitter, light, and old—the smell of dying fires gnawing at the last bits of structure left.

"There he is!"

"I see him."

Mikaela picked up her stride, following the shouting and disjointed roaring of engines being forced to work in battered states. She came to a clearing, the grass here either pressed completely flat and broken, or missing entirely, revealing dark and trampled earth. It was large, with equally rough-shorn army jeeps lining the perimeter and numerous soldiers running back and forth between them, loading the trunks up with the equipment that was scattered across the ground. There were guards, standing tense and ready with rifles, but she was only spared a passing glance before her presence was dismissed in favor of keeping attention on the sounds of distant sirens.

And in the middle of it all sat Sam, legs dangling over a large pit and surrounded by various machines and tools—and bits of them—most of which being certainly not of human design. The soldiers were running around him, shouting over his head, but he ignored them, typing on a computer while occasionally directing the few men in the pit on where to dig and how to do so. He was tired, Mikaela could see that from where she stood, his hair tangled and matted, dirt caked to scraped skin and rough-worn clothes. Mikaela knew she looked little better, her own clothes having been worn day and night for the past four days. Judging by the way this day was going, they would have to serve as pajamas once more.

Will Lennox had beaten her to the clearing, the current soldier in charge more than relieved to turn command over to him. Will assumed it quickly, all but whipping the others to double their rate of packing and to just throw the damn junk into the back seats, or tie it to the roof, as long as it got in and stayed there. Mikaela ran to Sam, the burn in her muscles making itself known as she collapsed beside him, breath heavy and heart racing.

"I thought you were in Tulsa," Sam said, not looking up from the laptop screen as he ran his hand across it to brush away the dust.

"I was," Mikaela panted. "But we had to leave due to some unexpected and unwanted guests."

"Your mother in law?"

"Funny."

"Sam!" Will's voice sharply cut through the din. "What's taking so long?"

Sam's head snapped up to glare at him, and he threw his hands up in frustration.

"Look, I'm doing my best here, all right? Starscream didn't exactly give me the time to finish 'Geology for Dummies.'"

"Well, do better. You're the scientist."

"Historian!" Sam corrected, turning back to his laptop. "There's a bit of a difference. I can tell you all you want about the history of the site, its weather, and what happened to each guy and his dog. You want me to dig it up, that's going to take a bit longer."

Thunder snapped across the plain, the falling from the black clouds on the eastern horizon. The sun was sinking lower, red slowly fading to thunderstorm green.

"You get five more minutes!" Will shouted, earning a less than charitable string of curses from a furiously-typing Sam.

"Johnson! Pack away the augers, I don't want any damage to the deposits. Everyone else go back to spades," Sam ordered the group in the pit, who quickly hurried to obey. Where's Bumblebee?"

"He dropped me off at the road," Mikaela answered. "He had to go back with Ironhide. Said they'd meet us at the rendezvous point."

"You ran all that way?" Sam asked, turning to look at Mikaela and seeming impressed. "Most girls opt for treadmills at the gym."

Mikaela cocked a half-smile at him.

"I ain't most girls. Oh, and Bumblebee told me to tell you that if you pull another stunt like you did in Santa Fe, he'll kill you himself."

"I don't get out of here soon and Thundercracker will be more than happy to save him the trouble. Damn it. The signal's gone. They must have realized we had the satellites working."

A sudden shout from down in the pit had Sam shoving aside the laptop and jumping down, pushing aside the men to reach the treasure recently unearthed. Mikaela followed him, squeezing in between the diggers to kneel down next to him. Just sticking out of the dark ground was a pale table of mineral, and Mikaela could not determine whether it was simply gray or a shimmery light green; the digger's helmet lights and occasional flash of far away lightning made it hard to tell. At any other time, Mikaela might have found it amusing, that such fuss was being made over a chunk of unattractive mineral, but the e-mails, the phone calls and eavesdropped conversations had prepared her somewhat for its significance.

"So this is what the Decepticons want," Mikaela said as the team loaded the mineral into a large bin, the lid coming down in locking snaps that sounded oddly loud in the wind and rumbling thunder. It was almost dark, and Mikaela had felt a few raindrops on the back of her neck.

"Nope," Sam said as a soldier tossed him a satellite phone, and he caught it in bandaged hands. "It's what they need. What's this? The satellites are down."

"This one's also tapped into the landline towers," came the soldier's reply. "You got Epps on the other side."

"Excellent. Gotta love alien technology. Get that tub into the jeep! Epps, it's me."

Mikaela hopped out of the pit, squinting against the wind as it gusted through the waving grass. Will waved her over to one of the jeeps, and she quickly hopped in, pushing much of the cases and tools down onto the floor to make room for when Sam joined her.

"Witwicky, let's move!" Will shouted, sounding irritated but Mikaela knew that there was no real heat in it. Will had practically adopted Sam, would have, too, if Ron and Judy Witwicky had not put up such a fight about it, and the irritation stemmed more from impatience and the need to outrun both oncoming storm and their decidedly pissed-off pursuers. A quick check around the site from Sam, and, slinging his backpack over one shoulder, he ran to the jeep and Will was able to give the signal to leave. No one had to be told twice, and the gravel and sand crunched beneath spinning tires as the convoy departed into the grass. Will stood up, leaning on the roll bars to shout directions to the driver, who could not see in all of the grass.

"I don't care! Bradford is the best marine sedimentologist in the nation. I want you to get him out of South Carolina and to our base immediately. I don't care if he wants funding for another ten years, just do it. And have the General call the Geological Survey in Denver and tell them that I need a geologist by Saturday. They should be able to spare one; whoever it is won't have a date anyway. Have the General call me if he runs into any problems."

Sam snapped the phone shut, struggling to get it into his pack with the heavy bouncing from the jeep.

"So, Sam, what is all of this?" Mikaela questioned, gripping the door rest to keep from flying over the top.

"It's groenite, a mineral discovered in 2009 by Dr. William Dawson. 'Groen' meaning green, and 'ite' for silver. As far as we can figure, there's not a whole lot of it, but a fuel cell made from this stuff is hundred of times more powerful, efficient, and long lasting than fossil fuels and even hydrogen cells. Low as they are on energon reserves, the Decepticons would tear this planet apart trying to get it. We need to obtain as much of it as we can before they figure out how to mine it themselves," Sam answered, also latching on to the top of the jeep's side door. The grass was whipping past him, hitting his hand, but he did not seem to notice it, the bandages on his hands absorbing the lashes.

"So why do you need a marine scientist and a geologist?" Will shouted down to Sam, straining to be heard over the increasingly loud, long rumbling thunder.

"Because, Lennox," Sam replied, placing exaggerated emphasis on Will's last name and smirking at the scowl he received for it. "Groenite is a marine deposit."

"Then what's it doing in Kansas?"

"Millions of years ago, this was all under water, a shallow sea. It's why it's flat and there's so much limestone to the north. And like I said, groenite's rare. If there is more, a marine sedimentologist and a geologist should be able to tell us where to look."

Mikaela shook her head, amused.

"I thought you were 'just an historian,' Sam. Best I can remember, you were asleep in all your Earth Science courses."

Sam grinned back at her.

"I am. But geology is the history of the world, Mikaela. Human history is barely a paragraph in that book. I better have at least some frame of reference for everything. Now, hurry up, Will, and get us out of here! I think it's going to rain."

8888

At least the rain washed away some of the dirt, Mikaela thought as the jeeps pulled into the main loading dock of the Autobot's mountain base. Base, perhaps, was used a little too lightly, as this particular hole in the ground was little more than that. Still, with the main base overrun with Decepticons, it would have to do. It was hidden, secret, carried a wealth of backup supplies for the main base, and the Decepticons would have to have to bring down the entire Rockies to find it. Sam was quick to hop out of the jeep, bringing backpack and laptop case down with him before helping Mikaela step out onto the bare rock that constituted the base's floor.

"Get the groenite to Wheeljack, and make sure that it has to go into storage, and that under no circumstance is he allowed to 'mess' with it. Even for a second. And be careful, he i will /i beg," Sam warned.

The main loading dock was huge, a vaguely circular room that had been dug and blasted straight into the mountain itself. Little had been done to furnish it; floor, walls, and ceiling were left bare, the granite having been barely smoothed out, and the lights were strung high, running on low power and thus casting everything in comparatively dim illumination. The Autobots did not seem to mind, and Sam suspected that they probably would have been able to operate everything in pitch blackness, but the human soldiers demanded at least minimal creature comforts, and the government had grudgingly conceded the basic needs for illumination and some sort livable habitation. Both Autobots and humans moved around the loading dock, most concerned with just doing their job but occasionally stopping to engage each other in conversation. It was satisfying to see, after the hard work and long days it had taken both sides to get over their initial fears and reservations and start cooperating like true allies. Sam let himself smile, feeling a quiet pride ripple like a small pool through his body.

A slam of the entranceway door announced it locking in place, shutting out both outside light and rain. It was loud enough to draw Sam out of his thoughts, and once out of his distraction, he could hear a man calling out to them, footsteps echoing rapidly in a flat-out sprint. To his right, Mikaela spun around, her own exhaustion not enough to keep away the grin, the joy, and she leapt into the approaching man's arms. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam could see a flash of sparkle on Mikaela's hand, the diamond in her ring catching the light from overhead.

"Sean! Oh, God, _hi_!"

She was laughing, kissing him, and her husband was doing the same thing back. Sam's smile widened, Mikaela's happiness spreading to him as chords from a favorite song. That had been him, once, him and Mikaela, but a couple of years after their fateful meeting at the park had brought Mikaela's match to her, and Sam was happy for her.

"Hey, honey, you been playing out in the rain again?"

Sean and Mikaela pulled apart, but did not go far, keeping their arms around each other's waist. Sean was not much taller than Sam, just by a few inches, dark blond hair cut short and jumpsuit covered in grease—an ideal Air Force mechanic with whom Mikaela could argue engine design and specifications for hours on end. A nice guy, overall, and who, most importantly, loved Mikaela just as much as she loved him. Sam approved of him.

"Ambassador," Sean said, inclining his head towards Sam. The respect was there, certainly, but the light in his eyes was teasing, playful, and friendly. Sam took Sean's extended hand, shaking it firmly.

"Knock it off. You know you it's just Sam with you and Mikaela."

"Yeah, yeah. You look like you've had your own share of adventure."

"You know, Sam, most ambassadors would opt for large offices with leather couches and built in putt-putt holes," Mikaela teased, winking at him.

"I ain't most ambassadors. But it's sure enough to make me want to sacrifice my soul to the creator of the hot water shower," Sam replied, running a hand through his grimy, gritty hair. Mikaela made a face in sympathy.

"I agree. God, I smell horrible, and Sean, if you say one word I'll never speak to you again."

"Don't tempt me, Mikaela."

An indignant smack to the arm had the three of them laughing, but Mikaela was quick to start walking away, dragging Sean with her.

"Sam, we'll meet you later for dinner, all right?" she called out, making sure she got an affirmative nod from Sam before heading off to the makeshift dorms. A moment's peace, a second alone with no one demanding his attention, but he knew it was far too good to last, and he was hardly surprised when he felt an arm swing heavily around his shoulders.

"Hey, Ambassador!"

His title was said like a nickname, as if he were being called 'shorty,' or 'son,' or 'tiger.' Hardly befitting his position, but Sam did not really mind. The soldiers he was friends with meant well, and when it came time for inspections or formal ceremonies, they treated him as though he were the President. Hell, when it came to the _really_ formal ceremonies, even the President treated him as though he were President.

"Hello, Fig," Sam greeted, shrugging the arm off and shrugging his pack up higher on his shoulder. It was getting heavy, and his bed, hard as a rock or not, was calling to him.

"Look at you," Fig said, shaking his head. "Twenty-seven years old and looking not a day over eighteen. How do you do it, man?"

Sam smiled at him, but it was not like the smile he had given Mikaela and Sean. This one was edgier, more secretive, but not enough to set Fig on edge. He clutched his bandaged hands tighter around the shoulder straps of his pack.

"South Beach, dude. Diet and exercise."

"No shit? Tell my mama about it. She doesn't think those things work. Well, come on. I'm supposed to bring you to Optimus."

Fig's speech dissolved into rambling Spanish as he lead Sam out of the loading bay and through the intricate web of tunnels and passageways to Optimus Prime's command room. In these emergency situations, it was guarded with more exclusive personnel admittance than the arsenal, and despite the way that both humans and Autobots saluted him in the hallways, it still surprised Sam at how easy it was for him to stroll in, guards stepping quickly aside. Fig remained outside, leaving Sam alone as the only human when the door slid shut behind him. Sam had expected more people, but then with current situations, everyone was relatively dispersed, and it would take time for them all to regroup. Only Optimus and Ratchet were in the room, both staring at and discussing in low Cybertronian the large plasma screens of national newscasts, most tuned in to the recent Decepticon attacks on cities. Relatively speaking, the attacks were not severe, carried out with only the intent to cause a little havoc while the big plans were being formulated. In the wake of Megatron's death, Starscream had assumed leadership of the Decepticons, but he was holding onto the position only tenuously, as loyalty to him was extremely low, and he had to expend most of his energy and attention in fending off dangerous usurpers, such as Soundwave and Shockwave.

The old scar on his thigh twinged at the thought of Soundwave, and Sam shifted his weight to his other leg to keep the stiffness out of it. But really, the dissention in the Decepticon ranks worked to the Autobots' and human advantage. The Decepticons remained disorganized, and that made them impulsive, angry, reckless, and ultimately stupid. The latest attack against the main Autobot base had been successful, but the Decepticons were too easily satisfied and proud of their triumphs, too busy gloating over a comparatively minor victory while the Autobots reassembled and planned their counterattack. It would have to be done quickly, though, before the Starscream got his feet under him again, and right now the Autobot forces were spread too thinly. So much to do and organize, and it made Sam's head hurt, already swimming from lack of decent full meals and sleep.

Optimus and Ratchet both turned at the sound of the door and scuffling of Sam's boots. Sam could see Optimus visibly relax at the sight of him, the light in his optics softening as the intricate plates around them arched in an unmistakable smile. They had picked up human expressions well, and Sam knew that had been instrumental in getting humans to trust and like them. Humans operated so heavily on familiar, friendly expressions, that lack thereof made them uneasy. Optimus had recognized this most subtle of influences, and had been quick to utilize it. By this point, however, Sam suspected that these expressions had become habit, and Optimus was probably no longer aware that he was doing it. Nonetheless, it soothed Sam as well.

"Ambassador," Optimus greeted, voice deep and low, and Sam could hear the pride hopping lightly, like crickets, across the syllables. Sam grinned at him, smile stretching tiredly, but still wide.

"Optimus Prime," he greeted in turn. "Hey, Ratchet."

"Hello, Sam. I'm glad to see you managed to keep yourself all in one piece, this time. No gaping wounds that I can see or broken bones," Ratchet said, and Sam could practically feel the deep, penetrating medical scan.

"I fear you too much to go running through rains of flying shrapnel again."

"Uncommonly good sense for a human," Ratchet murmured, nodding his head in approval. "And since you are not in mortal danger for once, I shall let you be. But make sure you stop by the med bay later this evening," he continued, and Sam noted the pointed look at his hands. "You need a checkup."

Sam saluted him, the cloth of the bandages distinct and rough against his knuckles. "Will do, sir."

"Uncommonly good sense," Ratchet repeated as he exited the room, leaving Sam alone with Optimus. Sam stepped up to the long conference table, placed close to the wall for human use while leaving the rest of the room open for Autobots. Sam pulled out a chair, slinging his backpack and laptop case up on to the table while he sat down, unable to suppress a groan of relief in being able to finally rest. The muscles in his legs and back relaxed, the tension slowly draining out like a slowly released pressure pump. Optimus came closer, also settling down so that he was sitting on the floor. It was quite informal, and a perhaps a little ridiculous looking for the Autobot commander to be so splayed out in a mess of long limbs, but it put him closer to Sam's eye level, and for once Sam's neck did not feel the strain of having to look nearly straight up to meet Optimus' gaze.

"I am glad to see you back, Sam. It's been a long time," Optimus said, and Sam nodded, bringing a hand up to cover a yawn.

"Three months," he agreed. "Though I hadn't thought it would take so long, I apologize. The site coordinates were wrong, and it took us six weeks just to figure out we were digging in the wrong spot. But we did find a deposit, about fifty pounds of it. I ordered it into storage. I've also put in a request for a geologist and the marine sedimentologist Noah Bradford to come here and help put together a decent dig team."

"Good. I would like to have you working with the United Nations again. The sooner we can have someone else in charge of groenite mining, the better it will be. The better I will feel, with no offense meant towards your skills, of course."

"None taken," Sam chuckled. "I'm horrible at it. You know, the German Chancellor has been raising the recommendations of dissolving the United Nations and creating a new cooperative federation."

"So I saw. And your opinion?"

Sam exhaled, chewing a little on his lower lip as he leaned farther back in the chair. The idea of the dissolution of the United Nations was hardly a new one, though not enough discussion or consideration had been placed on what was to take its place, and what the organization's policies would be. There was little doubt that a new coalition could have outstanding benefits; a clean slate on which to map out both Earth's and the Autobots' future, free from past mistakes and prejudices, but it would be difficult to do as well. It was going to be challenging, to get the various countries of the world to agree to cooperate with each other and set aside long-held grudges and intolerance. Not to mention being considerate of the desire to preserve cultural heritage and languages, including religion, methodology of government, and use of environmental resources. It was a delicate balance, one that only a few planets in the galaxy had managed to pull off. Most civilized worlds were either completely uniform or divided into regional powers separated at the very least by language. To preserve diversity and yet work as a united front…

"I like the idea of it," Sam answered. "But it's going to take some fancy footwork and lots of committee meetings. I suppose I can start discussing the possibilities of it with the President next time I see her, and I'll contact the German Chancellor, as well as the British PM. A lot of background communication and bridge building is going to be needed first before we discuss it properly with the United Nations. As well as a lot more PR work for you guys."

Optimus stared at Sam for several long moment, the barest of smiles pulling up at the corners of his mouth. He looked old, Sam thought, but far from weak. It was age in its most glorifying of states: experience, wisdom, all looking down at a younger being who had all the potential to be the same.

"You are indeed an amazing human being, Samuel," Optimus finally said. "I know your parents are very proud of you, and I wish you to know that I am, as well." He let it sit for a moment in the cool clay air before continuing. "Please let the President and Chancellor know that we shall be happy to provide our knowledge and examples of previous planets who have managed such unique internal cooperation. We will hold no bias towards anyone who wishes to work for peace and freedom. Your species is at a crucial junction in its development, and while I am sorry that we have forced the choice so early, I sincerely believe in humanity's ability to choose well and assume its responsible place in the galaxy."

"Thanks, Optimus," Sam murmured as he leaned back in his chair, feeling the ache of several days', weeks', years' strain begin to settle in his muscles. It was going to take a lot of work and headache, but there was little use in complaining when something had to be done.

"Bumblebee has missed you," Optimus said, the comment light but pointed, settling like a chickadee in Sam's tired, tired mind. It took some of the burn out of his hands, let him breathe more easily and deeply.

"I've missed him, too. I hope he hasn't caused too many problems while I've been away."

"No more so than usual. I believe he's even teamed up with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe on occasion."

"Oh God," Sam moaned, draping a hand over his eyes at the very thought of it. "I'm surprised Ratchet's processor hasn't blown. Why do you let them torture him so much?"

Optimus shrugged.

"If they're bothering Ratchet, it means they're leaving me alone."

"You're more evil than you'd like people to think. Well, as much as I love talking with you, Optimus, I need to shower and lie down."

Optimus let Sam go, even escorted him back to the quarters he would be sharing with Bumblebee, once his guardian returned from the mission he was on with Ironhide. They were smaller than those he had at the main base, and no doubt Bumblebee would consider them cramped, but with any luck, neither would have to suffer them long. Sam would have leave soon for New York, ideally within the next two weeks, and Bumblebee would leave with him. It had been hard enough to convince Bumblebee to let Sam go on the dig alone; there was no way that Bumblebee would give up his guardian duties again. At least, not for a very, very long time.

The shower was nothing less than nirvana, and despite his fatigue, Sam was more than content to just stand under the cascading heat, taking away a chill he had not even known was there. Soap and water cleared away the dirt and grime, the dried sweat, revealing long scrapes and some bruises, but as Ratchet said, there was nothing serious. The water turned black as it rinsed out his hair, and it burned slightly on the raw patches of skin where dirty clothing had rubbed, but the relief that came with it was well worth the miniscule discomforts. Soap soaked through his bandages, and Sam knew it would itch later, but he did not dare to remove them until his checkup with Ratchet. Through the wet, slightly ripped gauze, he could make out the dark patches underneath, colored like old blood. It hurt, aching like arthritis, but he merely clenched his fingers tighter into his palm and forced himself to ignore it. Ratchet would take care of it later, as well as replaced the bandages.

Once he was dry, the flannel pajamas that Sam found in one of the clothing boxes under the bed felt like nothing less than silk. They were a little large, made for more heavily built soldiers than his own scrawny self, but they were soft and warm and comfortable and i clean /i . And he had not meant to fall asleep, really, at the most take a short nap. But he had underestimated how tired he was, how good it felt to be under warm blankets instead of a pile of thread-bare jackets, for the moment safe with friends just yards away. Within moments he was asleep, waking only briefly when he heard the door to his quarters open and the reassuring, heavy steps of his guardian's return. He thought he heard Bumblebee call his name, and he might have responded, but exhaustion was quick to drag him back down. Mikaela would wonder where he was, after agreeing to meet for food, and Ratchet was expecting him in the medbay, but Sam could not bring himself to care. Besides, Bumblebee was back, and he would take care of it for him. Bumblebee would handle everything, make sure no one bothered him until he was ready to wake. As he listened to Bumblebee fold into his alt. form and idle up right next to his bed to recharge for the night, it was all to easy to collapse back deep into unconsciousness where his dreams were quiet and dappled, like sunlight through leaves.

8888

END PART I.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Another Gate

**Rating:** R

**Disclaimer:** _Transformers_ and all related characters therein do not belong to me. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Summary:** Several years into the future, the war still continues between Autobots and Decepticons, and through it all, life goes on, and everyone's still looking for ways to hold on. Three shot. SamxBumblebee.

8888

_It was late autumn, and the last of the blackberries were falling. Under the weakening and cooling sunlight, most of the leaves had dropped, leaving the trees bare and carpeting the forest floor in hues of corn husk yellow and Thanksgiving brown. Sam moved easily through the trees, the thin dirt path clear from the thick summertime vegetation. The thorny branches that did reach out were brittle and easily pushed aside. It was chilly, but no more so than what was fended off by a simple track jacket and jeans, and the coolness of the air felt good in his lungs—light and fresh and crisp, so different from the city air that always tasted of bitterness and lingered like dust in his throat. _

_But while the forest was quiet and lonely, that was not why Sam was taking his walk. No, he had a destination. One that lay dipped below the pine grove, just off where the makeshift trail curved away to find more suitable, open space. This destination was beyond the half-crumbled, moss-covered stone wall and dulled points of barbed wire that were curled around rotted wood posts. Signs that had long since lost their vibrant colors warned against hunting and trespassing. Sam picked his way through the obstacles, his stride every so often halted for the purpose of kicking pine cones out of the way, or to pick a ghostly pale mushroom that was silken to the touch. There were very few sounds in the forest. Most everything was curling away before the oncoming frost of winter and soaking up the last of the thin warmth from the sun. Music would have done well for the setting, and Sam could imagine hearing notes of clarinet music—hopping like birds through the branches; but it was quiet, as though it were being played from a distant room. _

_Sam stood on the edge of the path. It fell away to his right, disappearing around a hill of birch trees. The music continued on down the path, leaving him alone with the wind that rose and fell in gentle pulses; a breath in the forest. Before him, the forest was closed off, having long since folded in on itself as plants fought for space. The blackberries glistened like dark lights in the tangles, their tasty temptation filling the dew drops that covered their skin. Sam would have stayed, would have combed through the bushes to gather the berries like he and his mother had done so often when he was little, but his hands were hurting. Under his black leather gloves, his skin was filled with burrs, with biting insects and pulling aches in the tendons. He could feel the tips of the gloves' fingers filling with blood, warm and slick under his nails. _

_Oh, God, it hurt. _

_The low, mossy wall was easily crossed, a few of the stones wobbling dangerously under his feet as he stepped across the top. Sam pushed his way through the brush, twigs and leaves crunching with each step. He thought himself quiet, but he knew to the worms and pill bugs beneath that each touch to the ground he made was heavy and crashing. Each roll from heel to toe must have been deafening, and perhaps to them seemed like heralding to the end of the world. He kept going though, passing over, and the worms and pill bugs returned to sifting through the soil. The end of the world, then, was only temporary. _

_A muddy, steep bank ended the line of trees, and Sam managed a few stair-steps down on exposed roots that were jutting out from the mud before jumping. The shock of the landing traveled up his shin bones, and he had to shake it off before continuing down the thin shoreline of Pepper Moon Lake. The shore opened up once it reached flatter ground, the bordering trees creating a sheltered grove where a tongue of black water rested, waiting for winter. Here, Optimus was sitting, the tips of his feet just touching the water, which made miniscule reaches up the planes of metal. The beach was sand and pebbles, well away from the marshland, and despite his size, Optimus was well sheltered from the view from the rest of the lake. Sam made his way up to the Autobot leader, not bothering to call out a greeting. No doubt Optimus had heard his approach at least a good mile away. Instead, Sam simply took his place next to Optimus' ankle, reaching down to pick up a flattened pebble and toss it across the water's surface. It skipped three times, leaving a path of ripples before sinking into the blackness. Not bad, since it had been a few years since Sam had found a decent enough skipping stone with which to practice. _

"_Thanks for doing this, Optimus," Sam said, and even to his own ears, his voice sounded strange. It was not shaky, nor did it carry any tones of fear or hesitation. It was only…grateful. "I know it wasn't very fair of me to ask, but I knew no one else would understand. Much less help." _

_Sam picked up another stone and tossed it out, counting the skips and feeling satisfaction when it went farther than the first. _

"_It's not the first time," Optimus responded quietly, and Sam let his gaze fall to search for another stone. He felt bad, yes, but true regret seemed absent. Perhaps it was too cold out, and regret had been content to be left behind. So strange, to feel like this, Sam thought. Every preconception he had had been shed away in layers on his hike through the woods, leaving him with nothing but the ache in his hands. Was this really how it felt…_

_Sam reached for another stone, turning it in his fingers. It was perfect. He would have killed for a pebble like this when he was younger, when he had visited the lake with his parents and had combed across the beach to find the ideal skipping stone. As a child, he would have paid it the proper respects: admired its smoothness, uniformity of color, and he would have made his parents come out to watch him make it skip all the way across the lake. This stone, he would proclaim, would skip all the way to the other shore, where he would plan the next day around walking around and finding it again. Back and forth, back and forth, the stone hopping across the water like a miracle. But now, the aching and trembling in his fingers was so great he could barely hold on to it, and at his toss, it failed to make even one skip. It fell in an arc to the water and disappeared with a tiny splash. _

_Of everything that had happened, was happening, and would soon stop happening, it was that stone that broke him. Damn it. He did not even get one skip out of it. That would not do. He had to try again, but to do that, he would have to go and get it. Yes. He had to go get it. _

_Sam shrugged off his jacket, but left the gloves on. What a ridiculous thing, Sam thought as he waded into the water, the cold of it instantly seeping through his shoes and socks to wrap around his toes. What a ridiculous thing to take off his jacket. Habit, he supposed, but once he was waist deep, he wished he had it. It would have been no guard against the water, but it would have offered comfort. Still, he dared not to go back for it. Mikaela could keep it. She would want it. _

_Ah, the cold. He shivered, teeth alternating between gritting and chattering as the water lapped around his chest. Sam felt his heart racing, lungs drawing in rapid, shallow breaths as they struggled against something that was _wrong_…but oh, did it feel good on his hands. Like his toes, the water drew away the feeling in them, numbed them to a nothingness that made Sam laugh breathlessly in the deliciousness of that vanishing pain. _

_Also ridiculous, Sam thought, was taking the breath before he dived under, the water rushing around his ears and tugging lightly at his hair. Habit, he supposed. For a moment, he panicked, every cell in his being still tied to Earth screaming for survival—the surface, to reach the surface—to _hold on_…_

_But that was it, was it not. For so long he had been told to hold on. From when he was little, playing on the climbing wall and his father at the bottom, encouraging him ever upwards and to not let go of the hand holds, to learning how to ride a bike, passing class, reaching for Mikaela in the rubble, to _hold on_ to that goddamn All Spark. But holding on was easy. Anyone could do that. This was harder, the ultimate test, and Sam had an image to maintain. He would not back down, would not be afraid. So, in the blessedly cold darkness that was seeping into his bones and hands, Sam let go._

8888

"Girls go to college, to get more knowledge; boys go to Jupiter to get more stupider."

Sam had been prepared to step around the corner, ready to enter the Commons and for the first time in a few weeks feeling re-energized and alert. However, the sound of a young girl chanting an old schoolyard rhyme to the steady _thwap-thwap_ of a jump rope stopped him, making him pause and wait for the right opportunity to strike. Slowly he shifted his weight to peer around the corner, making sure to stay mostly out of sight.

"Boys are rotten, made out of cotton; girls are sexy, made out of Pepsi."

Perfect. She was facing away from him, the loose curls of her blonde hair bouncing with each hop over the pink and white striped rope. Amidst the dark, heavy rock and overall blandness of jumpsuits and military-provided clothing, the sight of a bright pink skirt, white tennis shoes and flowered white shirt was like a breath of fresh air. Sam quietly stepped into the Commons, a few individuals noticing him and nodding their head in acknowledgement. Sam ignored them. Rather, he stepped up to the jump-roping girl and, timing it to avoid an unpleasant smack from the rope, Sam reached out and scooped her up into his arms. It earned him a surprised squeal, the sound turning to delight as the girl realized who her captor was.

"You sure have a bad opinion against us boys, Annabelle," Sam said, tickling his fingers along the girl's sides as best as he could without dropping her. Annabelle squirmed in his hold, simultaneously trying to avoid the tickling and reaching up to hug Sam around his neck.

"Sam, you're back!"

It was said between gasping laughs, and Sam took pity. He set Annabelle back down and she was quick to latch onto his waist, the force of her tackle enough to make Sam stumble back a few steps. Annabelle grinned up at him, blue eyes scrunching into bright crescents that arched above her broad smile. With careful consideration, Annabelle grabbed his wrist and dragged him over to a small circle of sofas and chairs that were circled around a low-slung coffee table. Already gathered were Mikaela, Sean, Maggie, and Glen. On the table was a conglomeration of food that had been snatched from the cafeteria, piled high to create a free-for-all grab breakfast.

"Morning, everyone," Sam said as he took his place next to Mikaela. Annabelle was quick to climb up into his lap and make herself comfortable, but not before grabbing a muffin to hand to her human cushion. Sam gratefully took it, tearing away the plastic wrapping and biting into the apple-cinnamon flavor with a ferocity that was probably considered undignified, but his hunger kept any notion of etiquette away.

"Morning," Mikaela replied. "Where's Bumblebee? I thought you'd two be glued at the hips since he got back."

"He was still in recharge when I left. I would have waited, but I'm starving. Sorry I didn't meet you guys for dinner."

Mikaela snorted, waving the apology off.

"Don't worry about. Bumblebee told us that you were asleep."

"How did the dig go?" Maggie asked from across the table, Glen already reaching for the laptop that never seemed to leave his side.

"Good," Sam answered. "We got a pretty decent sample—about fifty pounds, I think."

"Looks like Wheeljack's weighed it in at 24.4 kilograms. That brings our total supply up to about 36,300 kilograms," Glen said as he typed away on his laptop. Sam frowned. He thought they had had more than that.

"So…is that good?" Sean questioned, Mikaela turning her gaze to Sam, her eyes asking the same question. Annabelle had occupied herself with a cat's cradle string, twisting it through her fingers, but Sam could tell she was listening as well.

"Not particularly," Sam replied. "But it's not bad, either. It's just useless. Groenite is an extremely efficient, powerful energy resource, but beyond experimental testing, no technology has been developed to harness that energy. Even if it were to be developed, it would be extremely expensive, and the energy received from the groenite would not compensate for it. And it's energy is only as efficient and clean as the technology used to harvest it. These were some of the problems they had with developing hydrogen cells about twenty years ago. The fact is, we don't have enough groenite for it to be considered of any use."

"But it _is_ enough for us to not let it get into the wrong hands," cut in another voice from behind Sam. Annabelle twisted in Sam's lap to peek over the back of the sofa, and a second later, she was leaping from her position and running to the new arrival.

"Daddy!"

Will knelt down to welcome his daughter into a fierce hug, and Sam waved at Ironhide as the weapon's specialist stepped in behind Will.

"Hello, princess," Will said, placing a kiss on Annabelle's forehead. "Were you good for Ironhide while I was away?"

"Good!?" Ironhide scoffed. "She was a little hellion. A Pit-spawned demon who leaves a trail of destruction wherever she goes."

Annabelle's eyes were wide and innocent as she mock-whispered to Will, dragging him by the hand over to the rest of the group.

"Ironhide doesn't like playing 'Duck, Duck, Goose.'"

"How many times have I told you?" Ironhide grumbled, the gears for his cannons twitching under the plates of his arms. "I am neither duck nor goose nor any other form of squawking, messy waterfowl."

"I don't know, the squawking part seems to fit," Will muttered, quickly dodging a not quite joking swipe from Ironhide. "I'm impressed you got him to play, Annabelle. He won't play it with me."

"We all played," Maggie said. "But don't be too surprised. It was either that or Disney Princess Fairy Tale Adventure."

Ironhide shuddered, the rest of the group laughing, and for the moment Sam could forget the ache pulling beneath his bandages. It felt good being together again, even if some members of their group were not present. This was something that the Decepticons did not have: a camaraderie, a pool of bonds that had made all of them all the better for having met each other. They had each other, and even with death and danger following at their heels, jokes could still be made at Ironhide's expense. All that was left, really, was to make sure that these types of moments were the _only_ moments that existed.

"The President wants the groenite moved to a more permanent location," Maggie said as Will sat down next to her. "We can't keep moving that amount of material every time the Autobot base gets attacked. There's too much danger in it being intercepted."

"I've already talked to her about that," Sam said, shaking his head. "The problem is that any place that has sufficient security is a target for Decepticon attacks. There was however, the idea of moving it to Sault St. Marie."

"Where's that?" Mikaela asked, leaning forward in interest.

"It's a double city in both Michigan and Canada, and the location of the Soo Locks that connect Lake Superior and Lake Huron. If we store the groenite in the locks, it will be well hidden, and it's a very low-profile location. Optimus has already put in his preliminary approval for the move. Now all we are doing is waiting for the final approval for Washington."

It was not entirely true, in that Sam was several steps ahead of this game, more so than the others were thinking. Approval, with all of its associated meetings, red tape, logistics calculations, and stamping, had already come from both ends. The supply move was scheduled for the end of this week, only two days away, and it would be carried out with the utmost speed and secrecy. The team would consist of himself, a small collection of soldiers, Bumblebee, Optimus, Sideswipe, and, once it came time to leave and he was finally able to recruit the final member, Will. Optimus had been a much debated addition to the team, since he would be needed at the base. However, the issue of moving the groenite had been centered around transportation, and the amount they had to move was too great for any of the other Autobots to carry in one trip. Flying had been a possibility, but military jets were at high risk from the Seekers, who had an uncanny ability to show up out of nowhere and enjoyed using human pilots as moving targets for testing weapon upgrades. The only option left had been ground transportation, and Optimus was the only Autobot whose alt. form could pull such a loaded trailer with ease. As well as garner the least amount of attention.

Sam nibbled at the last bit of muffin in his hand as the others fell into more comfortable, idle chit chat. The move was well-planned, well-organized, and fairly simple. Take the groenite to Michigan, leave it, and then come back. Easy enough, but it would do to not be too flippant about it, or take the mission for granted. He had done that before, and had paid the price for it. Still, Optimus' presence gave Sam a better peace of mind. And if all went well, then he could be back in New York by Monday, and Bradford and whatever geologist the USGS sent out would have the mining teams working more effectively than he himself had managed. Everything should work out, if except for the chance of one problem…

A sharp throb along Sam's hands made him flinch, fingers curling so tightly inwards that his knuckles turned white, and he bit into his tongue to keep from making a sound. Damn it. This was going to be cutting it close.

"There you are, Sam," Ratchet intoned from the Commons entranceway. He sounded only mildly exasperated, considered an exceptionally good mood for the Autobot medic. "Have you finished your breakfast?"

"Yes, sir," Sam answered, already standing up to meet Ratchet's next request.

"Good. Now come with me to the medbay for your physical."

"God, Ratchet. Give the kid a break. You give him more check-ups than my dentist sends me those little post cards for a teeth cleaning," Will said. "I don't think he's going to fall apart on you."

"I am well aware the humans do not 'fall apart,' Colonel," Ratchet said as he met Will's gaze straight on. "But Sam has a habit of causing upheaval, and likes to surprise me. Good morning to you all, if you'll please excuse me."

With that curt dismissal, Ratchet turned, moving to follow Sam, who had already left.

8888

Sam had already hopped up onto the examination table and was peeling off his shirt when Ratchet arrived. The motions were familiar, even standard, and Ratchet moved with considerable speed on checking Sam's vitals.

"You're in a good mood, Ratchet," Sam commented as Ratchet prodded him with various tools. "I imagine you haven't had to deal with the twins today?"

"The twins irritate me in ways previously unknown, and I am currently plotting their slow, painful destruction. That makes me happy," Ratchet said, a little too convincingly. "Blood pressure 110/70, resting heart rate at 72, temperature at 98.2. Eyes, ears, and nose good. No pains, headache, fevers, or other abnormal symptoms experienced in the past two weeks?"

"No, sir."

"Well, once again, Sam, you seem to be in perfect health," Ratchet said, entering the data into the medbay's computer, a massive machine that seemed to take up half the wall. The size was for Autobot convenience only, to them, it was probably more like a small but powerful laptop.

"Yeah, I seem to be," Sam agreed quietly. Ratchet ignored him, entering a few more pieces of data before stepping up to the medbay's door and punching in a locking code, one to which only Optimus and Wheeljack were privy.

"All right, Sam, let me see the hands."

Sam wanted to hesitate, but practically unbidden his fingers set to the task of unwrapping the bandages. He always hated this part. No matter how many times he did this, he was never ready for it. Never ready for the sight waiting for him beneath the gauze. The lower layers came away red, though maybe that was not a sufficient term. Once perhaps they had been red, when they had been newly applied, but now they were brown, the redness long since turned old and dry. One would assume the bandages that the wounds underneath to be gashes, or ridges of healing skin where the cells were knotting themselves back together. The truth…Sam could never keep from recoiling.

Cuts, he could handle. He had seen blood before, seen deep flesh and puncture wounds, had even seen peoples' insides spilling out. But along his palms, the skin was _missing_. It was gone completely, as though someone had cut an outline of his palm and removed the skin, taking both tendons and nerves with it. He could see the bones, those long elegant lines of the metacarpals and the rounded tops of the carpals. They were his bones, Sam had no doubt. But they were not the color they were supposed to be. They were not pinkish color of live bones, nor any variant of yellow or white that would be expected of exposed bone. Instead, the bones were dark gray, the faintest shimmer of silver glitter to them as Sam turned his hands under the overhead lights. Sam could see past them; they were lying across a bed of blood vessels, tendons, and muscles, and while Sam could make out the individual shapes of these structures, they too were coated in a fine leafing of silver. So, perhaps, instead of having been removed, it was more correct to say that his skin seemed to have been _eaten_ away, and this dissolution was continuing throughout the entirety of his hands' bulk. Across his palms, extremely thin lines of silver stretched from wrist and up into his fingers, no doubt responsible for his hands' continued movement and function. Sam was unsure of their strength, but he could never quite convince himself to touch the filaments and find out.

How the rest of his hand, the internal workings and structure, managed to remain isolated from the outside environment was the work of the silver, the grayness within that sealed off the edges of the skin like clamps and was probably doing the same thing within. Each day, Sam could feel the silver dissolve in a little farther, setting up makeshift structure behind it to try and take the place of the tissue it had destroyed. And this time, it had gotten farther than it had before. More of his skin was missing than the last time, and Sam could make out the bottom curves of the phalanges, a dark vein starting to stretch up the length of each finger as though it were making a cut from which to peel away the skin. Aside from an itch and a persistent, low throb, Sam could not feel the strange material, nor could he receive sensory input from it. It was more as though his hands had fallen asleep—he could move them, operate them, but any feeling aside from the ache was gone. As time went on, he would lose even more control over them.

Ratchet carefully placed a large hand underneath Sam's, mindful of the sensitive, spongy tissue that was left. A red light from one of Ratchet's scanners passed across his hands, the illumination for a moment allowing Sam to see the pulsing blood through the tissues in the top of his hands, rolling underneath the gray leafing of…whatever the stuff was. The red light ceased, disappearing, and for several long minutes, all Ratchet did was stare at the horrifying, organized stripping of Sam's flesh.

"These intervals have increasing longevity," Ratchet said at long last, a thumb rubbing soothingly down Sam's arm. Sam snorted.

"By about a couple of days each time. Not a whole lot of longevity. But what does it mean?"

"I don't know," Ratchet answered, voice heavy and Sam knew that that was the hardest thing for Ratchet to say. "It could mean one of two things. Either your body is figuring out how to fight the takeover, or the process itself is learning, and getting better. I cannot say with more certainty until the interval's longevity is extended for weeks, or even months, beyond one year. But it does not seem like you are going to escape the Recycling this time."

Ratchet pulled away, striding to the computer to enter in official requests that were also familiar, and as equally unhappy.

"I hadn't assumed so," Sam murmured, curling his fingers back to almost touch the silver webbing across the palm before extending them back again. He did not quite want to know their feel that badly. He wanted the bandages back on.

"Judging by the advancement of the metal," Ratchet announced, using a generic term for the substance eating away Sam's skin, though it was not quite metal. Ease of reference. "I do not recommend you participating in the transportation of the groenite."

Sam snapped his head up, eyes wide, but he was not completely surprised by Ratchet's declaration.

"But I have to go. If I don't, Bumblebee won't go, and we can't make changes to the team that quickly. Even if we did find replacements, it would cause a delay. We can't afford that—there isn't enough wiggle room in the schedule."

"You only have about five more days, Sam. If the takeover begins while you are on the road and only partway to your destination—"

"Then it will be a good thing I have Optimus with me. He's helped me each time before, and he'll be able to keep Bumblebee away."

It was a fairly decent argument, one that Ratchet would have trouble opposing. Especially since Sam knew that Optimus would take his side over Ratchet's. When Ratchet spoke up again, though, Sam realized that Ratchet had given up on the argument and moved to something more volatile.

"Why have you not told Bumblebee? He would want to know."

Sam looked away, unable to meet Ratchet's gaze.

"He doesn't _need_ to know, though, Ratchet. All he needs to know is that I get sick once in a while, and he doesn't have to worry about me. Besides, I don't want him to look at me differently."

"Have you so little faith in him, Sam? Neither I nor Optimus think any less of you, nor consider you an aberration," Ratchet said gently, approaching Sam with fresh bandages and beginning to wrap them tightly around Sam's hands.

"It took a while, though," Sam countered, and he could feel a heat building behind his eyes. "For you both to get used to it. Bumblebee doesn't need to know for the same reason that Mikaela and Sean, Will and Maggie and all the rest of them don't need to know. I trust them, yes, but it _would_ hurt them. It would alter them, that I could put Frankenstein's monster to shame. I _steal bodies_, Ratchet, I use them for my own and I don't want the others to know. We humans have a saying: ignorance is bliss."

"Bumblebee cares about you."

"I care about him, too, Ratchet," Sam replied earnestly, lifting his head to look back at Ratchet. "But this is just something I have to do alone."

"Not alone," Ratchet corrected. "Very well. If you insist, I cannot try to change your mind. But should you feel the takeover begin during the trip, you must tell Optimus immediately. I also want you to talk to him about the situation."

"I will."

"Good. Now, as long as you're here, take this cup. I need a sample for a UA."

8888

Sam had expected a welcome from Bumblebee, but perhaps not such an enthusiastic one. As soon as he left the medbay, Sam found Bumblebee waiting outside the door for him, and he could practically feel the tumultuous mix of happiness and worry swirling around his guardian. Bits of music and lyrics fell in tangled notes out of Bumblebee's speakers, as happened every time he got worked up.

"_Since u been gone…No one could take your place…Joy to the world!...When you come home…Welcome back, welcome back, that thug's back….Where'd you go? I miss you so, it seems like it's been forever since you've been gone….Here I am so alone…We gotta get right back to where we started from!_"

Bumblebee quickly knelt down in front of Sam, curling a large hand behind him that was comforting in his weight and unfailing support. Sam let himself lean into it, the visit with Ratchet having sapped away a little of his good mood. It felt wonderful to feel Bumblebee again, like coming home, and the uneasiness within eased. They had been separated for too long.

"_Talk to the doctor, he said you're well for home …how to save a life…It's been over an hour since we poked the patient with something sharp…Doctor, doctor, give me the news._"

"I'm fine, Bumblebee," Sam said, smiling as he petted the cool exoskeleton plating Bumblebee's fingers. "Just a little under the weather."

"Are you getting sick again?" Bumblebee asked, and Sam could feel Bumblebee's fingers tighten around him, curling protectively. It was a half truth, of course, since Sam refused to tell Bumblebee the whole story. With Ratchet's and Optimus' assistance to make everything sound more convincing, Sam had told Bumblebee that his exposure to the All Spark during its destruction had had residual effects on his body that worked in cycles, like a chronic illness that would rear its head on periodic intervals. His hands, Sam had told Bumblebee, were extremely sensitive, and had to be kept bandaged. According to Ratchet, without visual aids, an Autobot's scanners were fooled—Sam's hands operated as normal, and to Bumblebee, nothing would seem awry. He had simply trusted Sam on it, which left him feeling a little guilty to be carrying on the ruse, but it was far better than the alternative. The story worked wonderfully, and gave Sam a chance to disappear once in a while, to be left alone so he could recover when things got rough. Bumblebee allowed the solitude, so for nine years, Sam had been able to keep his secret. All he had to do was keep it up, and he had plenty of practice.

"A little bit," Sam answered. "But I'll be okay for the trip. I'll let you know if I start feeling really bad."

Satisfied, Bumblebee pulled back a little, shifting on his heels so that he was not so closely hovering over Sam.

"Would you like to go meet with Optimus? I believe he is in Wheeljack's lab right now," Bumblebee asked, but Sam shook his head.

"No, that can wait. How about we sneak out and go for a drive?"

It was almost funny, and certainly heart warming, the way Bumblebee visibly brightened, vocal processor chirruping with happy sounds that did not quite make it into words. Bumblebee was quick to pick Sam up and start moving towards the loading docks, stride long and hurried enough to make those people familiar with the pair to laugh. Sam did not care; he settled easily in Bumblebee's gentle grip. This felt right, being reunited after several weeks of separation. He and Bumblebee were friends, yes, but what they had also went deeper, unlike any other friendship Sam had.

But whatever it was, it did not really matter, and analysis could always wait. What was more important was the wind past an open window, the curve of the steering wheel under his fingers, and finally being right where he was supposed to be, all else for this autumn day forgotten.

8888

END PART II.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Another Gate

**Rating:** R

**Disclaimer:** _Transformers _and all related characters therein do not belong to me. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Summary: **Several years into the future, the war between Autobots and Decepticons continues. Through it all, life goes on, and Sam is keeping a secret.

**Author's Note:** Part III and the finale of "Another Gate." Enjoy! Also, just as a side note: If you are not familiar with the area, "Mackinac" is pronounced "Mack-i-naw." And yes, there is a Mackinaw city, which is pronounced just as it's spelled. Neither name is to be confused with Fort Michilimackinac, in which case you pronounce the hard "c" at the end. As well, "Sault" is pronounced as "Soo." Yes, I know, Michiganders ARE crazy. I blame it on extended exposure to the cold.

This final part became too long for one entry, so it's split up into two. Sorry for any inconvenience!

8888

_Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood hath eternal life_

8888

"I hate crosswords. They make me feel stupid." With a disgusted sound, Sam tossed the offending section of newspaper to the side, letting it slide along Bumblebee's hood. "How do they expect us to get the answer with clues like, 'Wreaking havoc?'"

"Sideswipe and Sunstreaker," was Bumblebee's reply, alt. form shifting ever so slightly under Sam as Bumblebee settled more comfortably on his shocks.

"Tried it. But the answer's only ten letters."

Sam leaned back against Bumblebee's windshield, stretching out across the metal and glass and breathing in the cool night air. After ten straight hours of driving, their convoy had stopped for a break—the last one before they started the last stretch of the trip to Sault Ste. Marie. They were in Mackinaw City, at the very tip of Michigan's Lower Peninsula, and just in the distance Sam could make out the elegant, long blue lines of the Mackinac Bridge. Once across the Bridge, it would only take approximately six or seven hours to reach the Soo Locks, and the mission would be completed. All they had to do now was wait while the human contingent made their restroom break and Optimus with his groenite-filled trailer was weighed for the Bridge crossing. The Bridge Authority escort was already present and ready to go, Sideswipe was behaving himself, and they were making exceptionally good time.

If only…Sam folded his arms across his chest, pressing his hands tightly against his sides to help ease some of the pain in them. He had switched to gloves, a seemingly unremarkable move since he could blame it on the chill of Michigan autumns, but Sam knew he was cutting it close. Only seven hours to Sault Ste. Marie, but the time still had Sam on edge. Once the dissolution of his hands had progressed this far, he would have little other warning before the Takeover would begin, and he would be powerless to stop it or even hold it off for very long. The power of will only went so far.

A hesitant glance to the side confirmed that Optimus was only a short distance away, his weight cleared but still he had humans running about him and climbing in and out of the trailer for last-minute inspections and safety checks. He felt better to have Optimus so near, and for a moment Sam contemplated going the rest of the trip riding in Optimus, but that would result in too much explaining to Bumblebee. No, he would have to settle for letting Bumblebee drive and claim fatigue, all the while hoping for the best and praying for time. A deep, small tingling in his palms, below the throbbing, let Sam know that Optimus was scanning him—evidently keeping a close eye on him in return. _I'm all right_, Sam wanted to tell him, wanted to say as he pressed tightly against Optimus' leg plates in a need for comfort and safety. _But stay close._

"Sam, are you ready?" Will called out, standing next to Sideswipe and waving a hand to get Sam's attention.

"Yep!" Sam yelled back, and he rolled off Bumblebee's hood as his guardian's engine started up in a low purr.

The escort closed in behind Bumblebee as they departed for the Bridge, their yellow lights flashing across the rear and side-view mirrors. It was an easy trip, with night traffic light and a toll lane opened just for them, and soon enough Sam felt the rise of the Bridge as it lifted them high above the Straits of Mackinac. He felt light, with the bright lights of the Bridge gleaming along the main towers, reflected like stars in the choppy waters below. Almost dizzying, really, as Sam swallowed a small lump in his throat and his heart pulsed low and deep—yes, almost dizzying…so much so that he almost did not hear the distant rumbling, just barely present over the hum of surrounding traffic.

Engines, powerful engines, trailing lines through the high, wispy clouds. Sam frowned, the sound itching at the back of his mind as he fought through the haze to recognize it. He rolled down the window, the wind rushing in and carrying the smell of the Lakes. Sam stuck his head out the window, looking behind Bumblebee and up, trying to determine the source of the rumbling. It was too steady for thunder, too smooth and rich for commercial airlines. No, these were the engines of jets, flying high. Hiding. A dip in the sound, bringing it closer, and Sam struggled against his dizziness as the pain in his hands ran through his blood in a fury.

"Oh, no," he managed to whisper before Bumblebee's voice rang out across the convoy's communication channels, engine revving to a high roar.

"Seekers!"

Sam reached for Bumblebee's dash, fingers fumbling with the buttons as Sam struggled to control their movements. "Everyone, get Optimus across! We need to draw their fire away from the Bridge!"

The lights of the escorts and non-sentient military vehicles immediately switched from a cautioning yellow to flaring red and blue, sirens screaming. Traffic quickly parted for them, pulling as far off to the side as they could go while Sideswipe skidded to a stop, tires leaving marks on the pavement. Will tumbled out, running to one of the jeeps as Sideswipe transformed, cannon already formed and aiming before the rest of him had settled into place.

"How the fuck did they find out about the groenite?" Will shouted into his communicator, straining to be heard over the sirens blaring from both vehicles and Bridge PA system.

"I don't think they have," Sam replied as Bumblebee sped up to remain close to Optimus. "I think they just found out that we're here and it would be a good time to make some trouble."

"They want trouble, they can have it!" Sideswipe spoke up, and Sam could hear the distinct blasting of cannons firing, working to deflect oncoming shots to the Bridge. The Seekers came low, dipping underneath the Bridge and coming up the other side. They were quick to split, making Sideswipe twist and turn to keep up with the both of them.

"Dammit," Sam swore as he twisted in his seat to catch sight of them. Purple and blue metal sparkled darkly in the Bridge's lights, practically dancing in the air and undoubtedly mocking the meager Autobot force. Sideswipe was alone, trying to fend them off while still moving to cross, and the Seekers were easily evading the human guns. They were _playing._ "That's Skywarp and Thundercracker. Dammit," he said again.

"I can't go faster than this," Optimus' voice crackled over Bumblebee's radio. "The wind shears are keeping me off balance."

"We only have two more miles to St. Ignace," Sam replied. Ahead of him, he could see Optimus wavering, the trailer rocking back and forth in the wind. "Everyone, go as fast as you can—"

A high scream tore through the air, and Sam instinctively ducked as the shot hit its target. A sharp, metallic twang was followed by a low groan that reverberated through the cement and up through Bumblebee's tires. The Seekers had evidently realized that Optimus was not transforming, not turning to fight, and they were quick to take advantage of it. One of them had fired on the Bridge itself, and at least one suspension cable had snapped, the main towers moaning with the effort of keeping the Bridge upright and in place. Sam straightened and slammed a foot down on Bumblebee's brake, a motion that surprised Bumblebee enough that he came to a sliding halt.

"Sam, what—"

Sam jumped out of Bumblebee, raising an arm to hail Will.

"Bumblebee, you need to go help Sideswipe. I'll go with Will to the other side and help with evacuations."

"But Sam—"

"Go, Bumblebee! I'll be all right—see you in St. Ignace!" Sam shouted, giving a small kick to Bumblebee's tire. Bumblebee seemed hesitant to let Sam go, but another shot just barely deflected by Sideswipe seemed to bring him to his senses, and before Sam had even reached the jeep, he was back in bipedal form and firing rapidly on Thundercracker.

"Hey, Bumblebee!" Sam heard Sideswipe call out, sounding like he was having just a little too much fun. "First one to shoot a birdie gets a prize!"

"What?"

"Playing a prank on Ratchet while the loser takes the blame!"

"I'm in!" Bumblebee exclaimed, crouching low to take aim.

Pulling up next to Sam, Will leaned over the edge to hold a hand out and offer a lift in. Sam reached for it, but a white-hot throb traveled up his arm, bringing him up short. He stumbled against the side of the jeep, clutching at his left bicep and struggling to take in a breath.

"Sam! Are you all right?" Will shouted, looking ready to leap out and come to his aid. Sam nodded, willing the pain to recede enough that he could wrap his tongue around his voice.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Let's go," he replied, knowing that the crack in his voice was hardly convincing but there was no other option than for his order to be followed. A soldier helped roughly pull Sam in, and once he was relatively seated, the jeep sped off to catch up with the rest of the group. Optimus was almost to the other side, on the downhill of the Bridge as it entered St. Ignace. He nearly flew through the toll lanes, which were wide open to allow the panicked traffic to pass through to safety. Once on land, Optimus detached himself from the trailer with lightening speed and rolled into his transformation, firing a shot high to announce his participation in the battle. It seemed a waste of a shot, of losing the element of surprise, but really, they did not have the time for that. What they needed was to draw the Seekers' attention, to bring them away from the Bridge, and to Sam's delight, it worked.

Evil, obnoxious, and sneaky as they were, Thundercracker and Skywarp were not stupid. Optimus was the biggest threat, had the best chance of taking at least one of them down, and so they were quick to abandon Bumblebee and Sideswipe to turn and team up against Optimus. It was dangerous, and the sooner Bumblebee and Sideswipe caught up the better, but Optimus could take care of himself. As soon as the jeep came to a stop, Sam hopped out and started to run up to the parked highway patrol vehicles to help with area evacuation. With blasts shaking the ground and arcs of flashing light splitting the sky in two, Sam flashed his badge to the deputies as he pulled out his own handgun from a side holster. Most of the general public and civil service workers knew his face, and would give him deference, but he could never be too careful when dealing with panicked crowds. Hence the gun. While little more than a peashooter to the Seekers, the gun was meant to deal with humans, used as intimidation to get them to listen when their brains were focused on nothing else than screaming and getting in the way.

It was hard to hold, though, the gun. Only by looping a finger through the trigger guard could he keep it from falling, the grip in his palm at this point nonexistent. And a stiffness was creeping down his thighbone, past his knee, causing him to limp across the road.

"Ambassador Witwicky," a man acknowledged as Sam approached, snapping a sharp salute. The badge across his chest pocket read 'Sherriff.' One good thing about being in the public eye so often, Sam mused, was that people were finally getting his name right. Sam waved the formality off, the sheriff stepping up beside him as he moved into the throng of police vehicles.

"I want the people in the surrounding buildings in their bomb shelters if they have them, tornado safety areas if they don't. I also want traffic reversed in the southbound lanes, open it to northbound evacuees to increase traffic flow. Send a message to the Mackinaw City units and tell them that I want the opposite there; close off the Bridge and reverse northbound traffic to create additional southbound lanes. I want people moved out of here."

"Yes, sir!"

Several officers moved to complete Sam's order, the rest either taking up station behind their cars or spreading out to surrounding buildings. Sirens from the Bridge and nearby telephone towers filled the night, punctuated by the firing of Autobot and Decepticon cannons alike. Sam chanced a glance backwards, saw that Optimus was holding his ground by the trailer and was using it as a shield from flying debris. His shots were steady, reserved; he saved them for when he was sure of his aim. Bumblebee and Sideswipe were not nearly as conservative, too caught up in their contest and firing without hesitation. Sideswipe was the first to nick Thundercracker, the shot skimming across the Decepticon's right wing and causing him to falter in midair. Sideswipe let out a victorious cry, pointing to Bumblebee.

"It counts, Bumblebee!" he shouted out. "I got first hit!"

A blow from Optimus, sword-arm glowing brightly as he swiped upwards at Thundercracker, who was still faltering and trying to regain altitude. It connected with one of his engines, sparks flying from the contact as Thundercracker shrieked in pain and surprise.

"I got the better hit," Optimus called back. "This means _I_ get to play the prank, and you both have to take the blame."

"No way, Optimus!" Sideswipe exclaimed, ducking a missile from Skywarp. "The rule was first hit!"

"Yes, but I'm in charge."

Sam let himself laugh, turning back to the buildings. They were all right. And with Thundercracker hopefully disabled, both he and Skywarp would retreat soon. Without Starscream to order them around, they were timid and quick to retreat in face of a real battle. Most likely they had come to stir up a little chaos, to cause some mayhem before leaving—they were, in essence, cowards.

"U.S. Government! Sector Seven!" Sam shouted as he opened the door to a small residence building, the first on the outskirts of town. A group of people, a family, Sam assumed, were sitting huddled on their couch, eyes wide and knuckles white from clinging to each other. He supposed the cannon blasts were rather loud to those not used to them. Even in the confusion, the fear, the man frowned at Sam, puzzled. The woman only stared at the gun hanging loosely in his hand.

"Sector Seven? Never heard of it."

Sam cocked a half smile at him.

"Never will."

"You're him, aren't you?" a girl—their daughter, Sam thought—spoke up from the couch, looking at him with more curiosity than fear. "Sam Witwicky."

Ha. Even twelve-year olds were getting it. Sam made a mental note to gloat to Mikaela. This time, Sam's smile was more full, reassuring. At their daughter's statement, Sam could see recognition flood the parents' faces, and most of the fear turned to surprise and just a little bit of awe. It was not entirely surprising; his name was synonymous with the Autobots, with saving the world, and people remembered it. And while it had taken some getting used to, he knew what he was.

"We are currently under a Decepticon attack. If you have a basement, go there and stay until you receive the all clear," Sam said, looking at the young girl and boy to drive home the unspoken point to keep the children safe. An explosion, uncomfortably close, had the small house rocking on its foundation, and the woman clutched more tightly to her children. Sam stumbled, catching himself on a side table and barely restraining a groan of pain as the edge of the wood dug into his palm.

"Will the Autobots come?" the woman asked, fear and hope vying for a place in her voice.

"They're already here, ma'am," Sam responded as he straightened, shaking his hand to ease the pins and needles within. "Including Optimus Prime himself."

He was wasting time, and he knew it—he needed to get to more people more quickly, but Sam had never quite gotten the hang of not being able to offer reassurance when it was needed. It was almost worth it to see the relief visibly slump both husband and wife's shoulders; to see the effect that Optimus' name had on everyone.

"Did you hear that Annabelle?" the wife murmured to her now shaking daughter. "The Autobots are here. Everything's going to be fine."

"Annabelle," Sam said, and the young girl looked up at him. "Pretty name. Now please, get under cover," he finished, strengthening his tone to form an order before turning to run back out of the door and back out onto the short-cut grass of the front lawn. He would have to move swiftly, and if the next group of people did not treat him like—

Sam gasped, his heart skipping a beat and causing him to fall to one knee. He stretched out a hand to catch his fall, but it only sent shockwaves up the sensitized, softening bone. The moment of breathlessness and pain was just that—a moment, and Sam moved to stand up again. Only a few steps were made, however, before a wave of pain swept through him, and he collapsed, falling to his side. His heart was heavy, pumping quickly and feeling so close to the surface of his skin, as though it were trying to escape his ribcage.

"No," Sam whispered, desperate. "Please, God, no. Not here. Not now."

But the prayer fell on deaf ears. As though a cord had been threaded through him, Sam folded in half, mouth falling open in a silent scream against the arrows of pain that were threading their way through his body, tearing open veins and scraping his lungs. A second's passing, though, took the pain with it, and Sam was left panting and sore but free of agony. Oh, how he hated this part, as though the Takeover could not quite determine how to proceed. And it was different every time; it could start at his feet, neck, hips, throat…but first it had to twist its way out of his hands and seed itself elsewhere. This interval of respite, the eye of the storm, always varied in its length, as well. It could last anywhere from three hours to mere minutes. As it waited. As it grew.

"Optimus," Sam murmured, reached a hand out across the grass, feeling the frost that had formed from the dew left by the afternoon drizzle. The ground no longer shook with missile hits, but flashes still blinded him in moments of brilliance. After a moment, they stopped, leaving only their echoes. Distant cheering from near the bridge came lightly across the grass, and Sam smiled. He had been right—Skywarp and Thundercracker had retreated, and he just knew casualties had been light, if any. He wanted to celebrate, wanted to go and put everything back together the way it was supposed to be, but his muscles were not listening to him, nerves lethargic. Ratchet was right, Sam thought distantly. He should not have tried to hold it back, and now he was paying for it.

People were running towards him, shouting, but it had been something else—Sam could tell that they did not see him; his mind raced even as the rest of him struggled to keep pace with itself. At least, they did not see him until Will did, the man's voice welcome in the cold.

"Sam! Sam, are you all right? Were you hit?" Will was asking him, reaching out to touch his shoulder to confirm his 'living' status.

"No," Sam heard himself say through cracked lips. "I wasn't hit. But I need Optimus. Please get him."

_And please go away. You can't see this._

He crumpled under the new onslaught of pain—in the ribs, this time—and Will worked the communicator on his wrist, calling for Optimus.

"Optimus, get over here, there's something wrong with Sam."

Astonishing, really, how fast Optimus could move. Sam dug his face into the ground, relishing the tremors of Optimus' approaching steps; they were heavy, quick—he was running. And judging by the very faint echo, barely out of sync with Optimus' step, he was just keeping ahead of Bumblebee. Shit, Sam thought, though he might have believed he said it aloud, judging by the way bloody saliva sprayed out the side of his mouth with the effort of talking. He did not want Bumblebee here. The throbbing pain returned, squeezing the arches of his ribs, and he twitched under it even as he reached for Optimus when the Autobot leader came up next to him and knelt.

"Sam!" Bumblebee shouted, reaching for his charge but was stopped as Optimus placed his own hand gently over Sam's body.

"Colonel," Optimus said, drawing Will's attention upwards. Optimus's gaze was serious, the light of his optics cold. "Have you ever skinned an animal?"

Covered as he was by the gentle touch of Optimus' fingers, eased slightly by the slight current of energy running through them and relaxing tensed muscles, Sam wished he could have seen Will's face.

"What?" Will asked, clearly stunned. "I mean, I used to help my dad skin rabbits and deer when I was little and he took me hunting, but what—"

"Have you any mental reservations about performing the same task on a human cadaver?"

Scratch the previous statement. Sam wanted to see Will's face at _that_. And everyone else's, as well, judging by the silence that had fallen over the gathered soldiers and Autobots. He would have laughed, had the webbing pain not stretched itself deeper into bones and tissue. Sam whimpered, and Optimus fingers curled more tightly around him, forming a protective embrace before gently picking him up and holding him close to red metal chest plates.

"Optimus, please. I need the water…" Sam said, reaching out to try and run a hand along the glass, but his lack of coordination with it only caused him to scrape his knuckles, the gloves doing little to protect him at this point.

"Don't worry, Sam," Optimus murmured. "I got you, boy. Sideswipe, evacuate the immediate area. Now. Will, take the rest of the soldiers and find the local morgue. I need two human cadavers, preferably John Does but if not, make sure they are listed as organ donors. They do not have to be completely intact, and you have the authority to remove the needed bodies."

Sam knew Will had to be confused, had to be hesitant and unwilling, but the situation left him little other choice than to trust in Optimus and follow orders. The soldiers present followed the command, scattering back to those vehicles that had been undamaged in the Decepticon attack.

"Bumblebee, go with them," Optimus said, already starting to move back towards the Bridge.

"No," Bumblebee replied. "I'm staying with Sam."

"That's an order, Bumblebee."

"One I will have to disobey, sir," Bumblebee said, tone just as forceful and entirely unrepentant. Optimus was going to argue, was ready to use force, but Sam writhed in Optimus' grip, making the decision for him. There was not enough _time_.

"Then stay out of the way," Optimus conceded, angry but unable to do anything about it for the moment. Sam folded in on himself again, the throbbing having changed to a sensation of millions upon millions of fire ants, biting and eating him from the inside out. Water, he needed water—and he could not stop the cry of sheer relief as Optimus set him down on the pebbly shoreline, the tiny waves lipping at his finger tips. It was so wonderfully, excruciatingly cold. It gave him the strength, the incentive to crawl to his hands and knees and push himself toward the water.

Only to be stopped by the large, heavy hand of Bumblebee coming down in front of him.

"Sam, please, what's wrong?" Bumblebee's fingers curled, ready to pluck him from the icy waters, but Sam's cry of distress stopped him. Sam draped himself across Bumblebee's forefinger, using it to rest a moment.

"Bumblebee, stop," he rasped, trying to give Bumblebee a reassuring pat but failing. "You don't understand. The All Spark—"

Oh, God…it _hurt_. Anything to make it stop. Anything.

"What about the All Spark?"

"When…when I destroyed Megatron, it left residual energy. It, it kills me, Bumblebee."

Sam could practically feel the alarm, hear the flow of energy spike through Bumblebee's energon lines as warnings flashed in panic.

"It's killing you!?" Bumblebee exclaimed, grip tightening to what would be painful levels, had pain not already enveloped Sam's mind, crowding his thoughts. Sam shook his head.

"No, it _kills_ me. Once a year. And I need the water, Bumblebee, to make it easier. I'll be all right, trust me. Please, let me go."

"Sam, I can't—"

"Optimus!" Sam screamed, desperate and sobbing for it. "Make him let go."

Almost instantly, Optimus was there, pulling Bumblebee away and prying his grip off of Sam. Finally free, Sam crawled into the Straits of Mackinac, muscles weakening with each movement as they dissolved underneath his skin. The alloy stretching its way through him was heavy, made him sink, kept him moving across the rocky bottom. His lungs did not even burn with the need for air. Through the cold water, Sam could hear the crush of metal as Bumblebee struggled against Optimus' hold, heard the Cybertronian curses being spat at the Autobot leader.

Ah, the cold felt good. Its numbness spread, familiar, into his bones, traveling through the alloy webbing that made up his hands. He was hanging on by a mere thread, Sam knew. And it was easy to let go. He did not feel his heart stop—he did not have to. He knew it the moment he heard Bumblebee _scream_, and scream endlessly, voice garbled by the rushing water around Sam's ears.

_It's okay, Bumblebee_, Sam thought as a warm netting closed in around his mind, so comforting, a caterpillar's cocoon that blocked out the rest of the world. His mind faded, closed off and folded inwards, like a neatly pressed blanket that was fresh from the dryer. _I'll be right back._

8888

By all accounts, the day was lovely. Full sunshine, with just enough warmth to stave off an uncomfortable chill, leaving the air crisp and fresh. The sky was blue, blue as only an autumn sky can achieve, skirted by the brilliant colors of changing leaves that drifted lazily down from tree branches. Even the grass was still soft and green. If the South was unmatched for the spring season, then autumn most assuredly belonged to the North. The smell of apples seemed to linger on the breeze itself.

Bumblebee sat in the sunshine, high on a hill that overlooked the Soo locks. The water glittered in the light, the glare almost too bright, and the ships moved steadily, slowly, in and out. He watched the freighters make their sluggish way into position, keeping his attention focused on them and not looking up when small footsteps padded their way through the grass towards him. Going barefoot was probably a little childish, Sam knew, and already he had endured some teasing from Will and the other soldiers, but it was the last day of the year to go barefoot and he was not about to waste it. And the ground was still faintly warm, soothing on newly formed skin, the grass pressing between his toes like the softest carpet ever made.

Sam sat next to Bumblebee, cross-legged, and leaned back to brace his weight on unbandaged, completely whole hands. Sam imagined he could feel the weight of Bumblebee's scanners rest on his hands, penetrating deeply. He decided to remain quiet, and let Bumblebee speak first. Sam owed his guardian that much.

"Optimus tried to tell me what this was all about," Bumblebee said at length, pointedly not looking at Sam. "But I would not let him. I wanted to hear it from you."

He was angry, had every right to be, and Sam sighed with regret. Whenever he had decided to tell Bumblebee the truth about his 'illness,' he had certainly never planned for it to be this way.

"Bumblebee, are you sure you want—"

"I watched Optimus pull you out of the water, Sam," Bumblebee interrupted, finally turning his head to look down at his friend. "And I didn't even believe it was you, a mess of metal and tissue, hanging from you like torn ribbons as though you had been sent through a shredder. Even most of your face was gone, the lower half of your skull missing. The only thing holding you together was this…web. I watched Will and Optimus skin two human bodies, remove their organs and stuff them into you, then place the skin over you like a blanket. I watched you die, Sam, and a day later you are up and walking around, as new as can be. And you ask me if I want to know what happened."

Sam looked down, avoiding Bumblebee's penetrating stare and instead concentrating on the last of the summer's insects make their way through the grass blades. He took a deep breath, steeling himself to tell the story he had before only told himself, in silence.

"The first time this happened, it was about a year after the Mission City battle. Well, really, it was a couple weeks after, when I noticed that my hands were hurting, itching. At first I thought it was an allergy, or a tendon strain or whatever, but it kept getting worse. You didn't seem to notice anything amiss, so I wasn't too worried. But it began to hurt more, and every time I scratched at it, I would start to bleed. When we visited the new base, I talked to Ratchet about it. He didn't know what was causing it, but as time went on and my hands started to deteriorate, we figured it was due to me handling the All Spark. Some reaction with organic life forms, or something.

"I didn't tell you because I didn't want to worry you just yet, and soon my hands stopped deteriorating—they just stayed like they were. Ratchet was working on a way to get them back to normal, so I just kept it to myself. About a year after that, you were sent on a mission to welcome a new arrival, who landed in upstate New York."

"Yes, I remember. It was Prowl."

Sam nodded, and opened his mouth to continue, but he still could not raise his gaze to meet Bumblebee's.

"While you were gone, Optimus acted as my guardian, and I stayed at the base with him. Ratchet told him about my hands, and we decided to go to the old Sector Seven base at the Hoover Dam, to see if they had any records or information on similar occurrences with their researchers. While we were there, well…it was pretty much like what happened yesterday. All of a sudden, the pain I had felt in my hands started to spread, to all over, and it made me panic. I think it scared Optimus half to death—he didn't know what was happening, didn't know what to do, and we were alone. I don't really remember a whole of it, but I do remember trying to get to the water, trying to jump into Lake Mead. Everything's just…blank, after that. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in Ratchet's medbay, pain gone and hands completely healed.

"The nearest we can figure, when I destroyed the All Spark, it started to try and create a new body—I mean, that's what it did, whenever its energy was focused. I caught the backlash of it, and…I don't have any part of the All Spark in me, but some of its creative energy is caught in me, like a program that keeps looping. And it keeps trying to make a new body. It starts with my hands, since that was the point of contact, and it replaces my tissues and bones with an alloy. It doesn't work, of course, my body keeps rejecting it. The energy spreads, trying to compensate for organic life, and when it doesn't work, it just…deletes it and starts all over again. It creates a new organic body for me to try again, trying a new method every time."

"What about the bodies?" Bumblebee questioned, voice no longer angry, but Sam was hard pressed to identify any one emotion within it. Sam sighed heavily, feeling his shoulders slump with weight.

"The bodies," Sam murmured. "Well, as I said, the All Spark energy creates a new organic body for me so it can start the process over. But it got rid of all my other tissues, and it's impossible to create or destroy matter. It can just be changed. The energy needed a new source of skin and organs. I don't remember any of it, but Ratchet told me. He was working with a human doctor, to learn more about Earth medicine and human physiology. A Dr. Richard Williams. They were both there when Optimus brought me back, already dead. I imagine I looked horrifying, but Dr. Williams and Ratchet both agreed to do as best an autopsy as they could, to determine exactly what the All Spark energy did to me. Ratchet went to gather some tools while Dr. Williams came up next to me to get a closer look.

"Apparently, according to Ratchet, at that moment I just…sat up. I grabbed him and…" Sam stopped, taking a deep, shuddering breath before continuing. "Ratchet said I started peeling his skin off like I was peeling a banana. I snapped his bones in half to get at the marrow and eat it, ripped the organs out and unfolded them to get a closer look. Stretched his muscles over my own form, placed his eyes into my own sockets. Tried to put his skin on like a coat. Poor Ratchet. He had no clue as to what was happening and he had to watch as I ripped this man apart. Then, I guess I just stopped. Collapsed, and Ratchet said I began to reform, most of Dr. Williams' parts reshaping to become my own. And then about eight hours later, I woke up, completely fine with no memory past Lake Mead."

Here, Sam dared a look up at Bumblebee, dreading what he would see but instead only found Bumblebee's expression unreadable. Sam continued talking.

"Each human cell has, within it, DNA. It is the blueprint for our bodies, which proteins to synthesize and when. We think that the All Spark energy read my DNA, RNA…the entire layout of the cells and stored that information. When I receive the new parts from someone else, the energy reconfigures the DNA present to match my own genetic information. Those parts become my own. The All Spark energy then sets those cells to dividing, and when there's not enough, believe it or not, it uses the adult stem cells to create new ones.

"Don't worry about me going all angsty on the whole 'it's not really me,' and 'I'm not human' drama spiel. I already went through all that with Optimus nine years ago, and I'm over it. I know I'm still Sam. It's still me," Sam repeated, softly. He leaned forwards, shifting his balance and bringing complete, unmarked hands into his lap. He flexed his fingers, each movement precise, controlled, and felt. "It's more me than perhaps I was before."

Sam jumped as he felt a weight settle behind him, lightly, across his spine. Bumblebee's hand curled around him, the metal warm from sitting out in the sun.

"You said that stem cells—"

Sam shook his head, cutting Bumblebee off.

"No, we tried it. We tried to give the All Spark energy just stem cells to use and reformat, but it didn't work. I need a full body donor. We try our best to be respectful to the person's family, though, if they had one, and give them something to bury or scatter. And it doesn't matter if the person is male or female, old or young—whoever it is becomes me, and they cease to exist."

"And if there's no donor available?"

"Don't know. I'd either go looking for one or just be kept in stasis until one came near enough for me to seize—Ratchet and I aren't too eager to find out. I'm just grateful it wasn't Mikaela helping Ratchet out that day," Sam mused, bringing his legs up to wrap his arms around them. He rested his chin on his knees, watching the boats go sailing by. One of Bumblebee's fingers curled around his arms, pressing gently in as though he were trying to convince himself of the feel. That Sam was not about to disappear. Another finger dipped low under his hip, shifting slightly while Bumblebee contemplated whether or not to pick Sam up.

"Are you mad at me?" Sam asked quietly, squeezing tighter in on himself. He had really not mean for Bumblebee to find out this way, if at all. So much could change, and Bumblebee was the one thing he was not sure he could handle losing.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Bumblebee questioned in turn, and Sam felt himself wither. This was the question he had been avoiding for going on ten years—all that time, all those sleepless nights trying to come up with a response, and still he had not been able to form a satisfactory answer. Even then, it was not likely Bumblebee would accept any response, no matter how reasonable.

"I didn't want you to look at me differently," Sam answered at length.

Bumblebee pulled away, not confident that his grip could keep from becoming too tight.

"Do you think so little of me, Sam?"

Sam winced. Bumblebee was not angry. Worse. He was hurt. Disappointed. Damn it. This was exactly what he did _not_ want.

"It's not that, Bumblebee, it's just…it seemed better if no one knew. Everyone could keep their normal lives and…"

"And so you could, too?" Bumblebee finished for Sam. Sam dipped his head, barely looking over the tops of his knees and focusing on the water moving through the Locks. Even so far from the next Recycling period, the sight of the water soothed him. Eased the guilt that was tugging at him. Bumblebee was right, and Sam knew he was being selfish—had been selfish for ten years. He had been hiding, but not from everyone else, as he had tried to convince himself.

"I'm not mad at you, Sam," Bumblebee said, answering Sam's earlier question. "Just angry that I couldn't be there for you when you needed me. I don't want to feel like such a failure to you again. Ever."

_And forever_, Sam added silently, looking up at Bumblebee. His guardian, his friend, his…God, was there even a word? Sam smiled, feeling a warm wetness building behind his eyes. They did not even have to say it—Sam just moved, resting up against Bumblebee's thigh as Bumblebee's hand came back around to support him. Sam laid his palm flat against the bright yellow metal, sighing heavily at the wonderful _feel_ of it.

"You look tired," Bumblebee murmured, stroking a thumb across Sam's back.

"I had a rough night. Couldn't sleep," Sam replied.

"Do you want to go back inside?"

Sam shook his head. Work could wait. After all, he had all the time in the world. No, he much preferred to stay like this, cushioned on grass and resting up against his partner, both watching the freighters move the world along as they glided across the pale blue water.

"Nah," Sam said. "Let's stay here for a bit. The sun feels good."

8888

END


End file.
